


Of Dependency and Fondness

by careforacuppatea



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 新ムーミン | Shin Moomin (Anime 1972), 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Anal Play, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Father/Son Incest, Foreplay, Fucking, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Porn With Plot, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, just fillin a need
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/careforacuppatea/pseuds/careforacuppatea
Summary: Snufkin hadn’t realized how much he coveted the Joxter’s time and attention until these past couple of days; ; Joxter had decided to head out from Moomin Valley for a bit. Since their father-son relationship started, things have gone from complicated to unconventional, to downright taboo. Things go straight to taboo and sinful when Joxter returns from his travels and Snufkin can't help but give his father attitude, and even try and tease and mess with him.





	Of Dependency and Fondness

**Author's Note:**

> Snufkin is at least 16/17, and at most 18/19  
> I spent way too much time on this.

Snufkin hadn’t realized how much he coveted the Joxter’s time and attention until these past couple of days; Joxter had decided to head out from Moomin Valley— _Just need some time to myself, boy_ , Snufkin remembered the old man muttering as he packed up an old, leather backpack. Snufkin is one of the few people that could understand the sudden and spontaneous desire to just decide one day that you wanted to get out and stretch your legs and find some solitude. But he couldn’t help the growing pit in his stomach as he asked his father when he should expect him to be back. Snufkin recalls the apathetic look on the Joxter’s face, eyes glowering up at him from under the shadow of his hat, the quirk of that sinful mouth as he said, with little care, “Who knows.”

Snufkin knew that he should have been more understanding, because he’s done and said similar things to his close friends when he must leave—but he couldn’t bring himself too, he couldn’t stop the biting emotion of resentment, the sickening feeling of abandonment causing a lump to form in his throat. Snufkin wanted to ask—no, _demand_ to be allowed to accompany Joxter on his trip away, but he knew what the answer would be instantly, and knew it well that it was never wise to raise your voice angrily at a Joxter.

So instead, hoping that he was hiding his true emotions well, and swallowing the lump in his throat, Snufkin struggled to get out, “You will be back though?” it was barely above a whisper, but Joxter’s acute hearing easily picked it up. As the older man lifted the backpack onto his shoulders with a grunt, he turned to look at Snufkin, bright eyes studying his only child, standing there, green hat drooped down so that Joxter couldn’t see those soft, doe-brown eyes. “We’ll see,” was all Joxter said as parting words, turned, and quickly left the boy to stand alone inside the makeshift shack, deep in the woods of Moomin.

Remembering it was enough to get Snufkin feeling exactly as he had in that moment—like a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown onto him, a bitter taste forming in the back of his throat that had him nauseous. He remembers how difficult it was to fight back tears, to choke back sobs, and how pathetic he felt the first night without the Joxter in that little hut, how he had wrapped himself in the blankets and furs that smelled strongly of his father, whining like a forgotten pup.

As much as Snufkin hated to think about it, much less admit it, he may have grown an unhealthy dependency on his father—well, when Snufkin felt like he was growing dependent on others, even remotely, it set off alarm bells for him. He shouldn’t be depending on anyone, he shouldn’t be clinging onto others like this so desperately—and yet, Joxter felt like a twisted exception. Perhaps Snufkin was simply trying to justify why, out of everyone he knows and loves, that his father who left him before he was born and wasn’t there for most of his childhood, is the person Snufkin needs, wants—and desires.

Snufkin couldn’t really answer this one-- especially since their father-son relationship started, things have gone from complicated to unconventional, to downright taboo. Snufkin’s mind was already buzzing with too many questions in regard to what him and his father share, and he wasn’t sure what day he’d begin inquiring Joxter about first. They mainly just beat around the bush, or just downright ignored what they’re doing, when alone together and behind closed doors.

 

 

Giving his head a firm shake, Snufkin let out a low growl of annoyance at how loud and unnecessarily busy his mind could be. Today was supposed to be a carefree outing, at the lake nearby the shack, fishing and simply taking in the beauty of Moomin Valley in summertime. It’d been two weeks since Joxter left, and Snufkin had barely accepted the fact his father may not be returning—at least, not any time soon. “Or not at all,” Snufkin whispered to himself, face somber and brown eyes dull, staring back at him as they reflected off the lake’s calm, crystal surface. No fish had even nibbled at his line, and then realizing he had been out here from morning to the late afternoon, the young man decided it would be fair to call it a day, and perhaps try again tomorrow—maybe invite his friend Moomintroll, for some company.

Collecting his rod and fishing line, the Snufkin began padding back into the woods, following a somewhat hidden pathway that would lead him back to the rickety shack. Lately, Moomin Valley had been quite humid and incredibly hot this year, and so Snufkin had taken to walking barefoot, wearing shorts rolled up to his mid thigh and a light green tank top—and his hat worked lovely to block the sun from his face. Snufkin hummed contentedly as the pads of his paws walked upon cooling grass as he entered the thick and shady forest, and as his body was covered in perspiration, Snufkin relished the light breeze that combed through the area. Despite the ever present, gloomy mood below the surface of his thoughts, Snufkin couldn’t help but give a gentle smile at how lovely today was, and stopping midway home to just, fully take it all in.

Even though Snufkin was standing there, listening to the sounds of nature in summer, taking in all the scents with deep breaths in through his nose—the boy hadn’t noticed a sudden presence nearby, didn’t smell it, nor hear it as it approached from behind. Hiding back in a thicket, a pair of two, luminous eyes stared intensely at the young boy, who had turned slightly, so now the creacher could see the profile of Snufkin, a lovely smile upon those soft lips.

The sound of loud rustling and a quick movement startled Snufkin, causing him to drop the fishing pole and swiftly turn 180 and stare, wide eyed at the thicket, which was still swishing from a creature disturbing it. Snufkin, curiously, stepped closer to the bushes, pupils slightly dilated, and he began sniffing, alert now. At first, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary—Snufkin mainly smelled the plants around him, animals that are out and about, the rich soil beneath his feet… but then, _then_ , the young man did pick up on another scent. It was very light at first, but he could pick up strange spices and herbs, the smell of burnt wood, and something musky, heady almost. All so familiar.

The sudden sound of someone whistling, followed by a gruff, tired voice casually calling, “Up here.” Is what both spooked and got the young man to quickly look up at the tree next to the thicket, and spotted another man, lazily laying on his side on a sturdy branch, gazing straight back down. While it should have been an instant recognition of who it was due to the notorious, wild blue eyes, and worn red hat wrapped with rope-- Snufkin’s mind simply went blank at the sight of the Joxter, relaxing upon a branch just above him.

Neither spoke for some time, simply staring at each other—Joxter took in his son’s appearance, the sun kissed skin exposed by his revealing attire, which was indeed quite flattering on his boy. While Snufkin’s face appeared unreadable, his eyes seemed to be going through a multitude of emotions in such a short time, Joxter couldn’t exactly decipher what his son was feeling. Snufkin, on the other hand, was going through a plethora of emotions, all at once really, and it was starting to make him feel nauseous, the bitter taste returning just as strong. Snufkin didn’t want to feel angry, he should have felt delighted and relieved that his father had indeed returned to him, but he simply couldn’t. Instead, the young man felt a petty rage, bubbling at the bottom of his stomach, and while Snufkin kept a decent poker face, Joxter did see a flash of something, almost viciously cold, in Snufkin’s usually soft, patient eyes.

Joxter would be lying if this didn’t pique his interest extremely.

Breaking the silence, Joxter asked, half teasing, “Do I not get _a welcome back, papa?_ ” Snufkin’s emotionless face quickly cracked with such a comment, a look of annoyance on the young face as his eyebrows creased down slightly. “Oh, _papa_ ,” Snufkin replied, a faux sweetness to that word. “You know I can’t lie to you,” Snufkin said, a biting attitude in his voice, one that got the hair on the back of Joxter’s neck standing up.

Alright, so he may have expected his son to still be a bit sensitive about him just leaving and not telling him when he’d back, Joxter thought, trying to be understanding. He wasn’t blind, he remembered how hurt his son looked when he could only answer questions about returning, vaguely.

With a frustrated sigh, Snufkin turned around to go and pick up his fishing pole, in which Joxter sat up and like an agile feline, slid off the branch and landed on his feet with ease, holding onto his hat with one hand in case the falling or landing knocked it off his head. “I came back, didn’t I?” Joxter asked, tone of voice unusually cautious. Turning back around to stare coldly at his father, fishing rod once again forgotten, he replied, condescendingly “Indeed, I assume _you_ deserve some kind of reward for doing so?” Snufkin had to bite his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing as the expression on his father’s face from this response was rather humorous.

At this point, Snufkin actually wasn’t _as_ angry as he was right when he saw his father—which, yeah, was annoying since Snufkin believed he had every right to still be hurt and petty [which even that bothered him since it was just another sign he put way too much faith and heart towards the Joxter] But as he began to banter almost _cruelly_ towards his father, the feeling of relief and, to Snufkin, pathetic happiness had started sweeping over him, like a cool breeze during a hot and sticky summer.

While Snufkin was beginning to cool down, Joxter was beginning to heat up—mainly from his son’s biting wit and juvenile attitude, in which the old Mumrik wasn’t entirely used too. Not to mention, Joxter had been journeying back to Moomin Valley, starting as the sky was still dark, only stopping once to rest and eat; Joxter was bone deep _tired_ , smelt of sweat and earth. In short, he was hoping to gain some hospitality, but no, the boy was giving him _lip_. “I didn’t come back to be disrespected by my own _child_ ,” Joxter said, an edge to his voice, blue eyes narrowing, though his face stayed relatively neutral. Although Snufkin watched as his father’s patience dwindled, the boy had the petty, dare say vengeful desire, to continue pushing Joxter’s buttons, test his boundaries with the old man.

“Well then,” Snufkin began, cheekily smiling, placing his hands on his hips as he slightly leaned forward. “Why and _what_ exactly did you come back for, then?” asked Snufkin, feeling his face heat up, knowing Joxter caught on instantly to such a suggestive comment, and Joxter couldn’t help but feel as if he was being baited. _Would he take the bait?_ Was the real question the two creachers shared, unknowingly.

“Come now, _papa_ …” Snufkin spoke before Joxter could decide on his next move—the young boy’s voice had dropped slightly, and it rather surprised Joxter that Snufkin was able to make such a familial term sound so _provocative_. “Humor your _kitten_.” Snufkin couldn’t quite explain himself and felt the palms of his hands begin to perspire at his boldness in being the one to tease his father-- left him feeling not only silly and flustered, but vulnerable to how Joxter may respond.

The old Mumrik stood there, somewhat reeling from the uncharacteristic behavior coming from Snufkin—and suddenly, Joxter couldn’t tell what was causing him to heat up, the hot and humid weather, or his own son. Suppose, he already knew the answer to that question.

As Joxter reached up to remove his hat, a crooked smile appeared, though when Joxter looked back up, Snufkin noticed how it didn’t reach his piercing eyes. Gripping the old red hat in one hand, the Mumrik used the other to run through his dirty, wild hair, and after releasing a chortled, said, “Alright, I’ll humor the nosy _child_.”

Snufkin tried not to bristle at the comment, pressing his lips in a firm line, arms moving to cross over his chest, leering at his father from under the brim of his hat.

Joxter unexpectedly dropped his hat on the soft, grassy floor, and with raised eyebrow, Snufkin watched as his father reach up to do away with the cottony, yellow scarf wrapped about his neck, then reaching to unbutton his green jacket. “I believe I’ve grown rather _fond_ of you, Snufkin,” Joxter began, voice steady and rather impassive, removing his jacket and tossing it down with the hat and scarf. A lump formed in Snufkin’s throat, trying his best to keep his eyes straight ahead, and not begin to admire how his father looked in a simple, light red undershirt. “Is that so, _papa_ ,” Snufkin commented, voice close to a whisper, almost sensual.

Joxter’s gaze flickered up towards Snufkin for maybe a second, that annoyingly mischievous smile still on his face, though eyes unreadable—Joxter looked back down at the ground as he toed and pulled off his boots, letting out a hum of delight, standing barefoot in the cool, _cool_ grass. With a sigh, the Joxter gazed up at Snufkin, giving a wry smile, but eyes still stolid; “Oh yes—perhaps, _too fond_ though,” The old Mumrik said, an underlying bitterness to his voice, “So fond, that I could barely go _two weeks_ without needing you.” As he spoke, Joxter took a couple steps in Snufkin’s direction, and as the man got closer, Snufkin saw something gleam in those cerulean eyes, which got him taking a step back, arms moving to his sides. “ _Wanting_ you,” Joxter continued, a growl forming in his chest as he kept moving forward, deliberately slow, _stalking_ \-- and that’s when Snufkin realized, he was the only one playing the game of push and pull. Snufkin felt himself break out into a sweat, beads rolling down the back of his neck, the sides of his temples, and he became very aware of his body, how hot and sticky it felt from the humidity, and how hot and wet he was becoming as Joxter’s eyes shone with predatory delight.

“And I come back to an **_insolent_** _child_ —well, I know one way I can fix that attitude of yours,” Joxter growled, teeth baring in an almost terrifying, wolfish smile. Snufkin didn’t even have time to _attempt_ to flee, nor scream-- he had tried, but it got caught in his throat as he was jumped and tackled by Joxter. Snufkin’s hat was knocked off as he fell hard to the ground, the cool, gentle grass only absorbing so much of the impact, and the sound of grunting from both Snufkin and Joxter could be heard as they landed.

Snufkin only felt dazed for a couple of seconds, but right as the world stopped moving, Snufkin felt a hand pull down the neckline of his tank top, and then hot, hungrily lips were on his collarbone and neck. Breathing out, Snufkin couldn’t keep himself from instantly melting, bringing his hands up to grasp and gently tug Joxter’s thick, wild mane of hair. This close, Snufkin could smell the sweat of his father—strangely pleasant, musky, sending a jolt straight down to his groin. With it was the familiar smell of dark, rich dirt after rain, sickeningly sweet spices, the comforting scent of strong tobacco; Snufkin let out a gentle sigh as Joxter began to take over all his senses.

The playing with Joxter’s hair only encouraged the Mumrik, and so hungry kisses turned to nipping at the soft skin of Snufkin’s neck, ghosting the tip of his tongue over the delicate collarbones; when Joxter latched onto a particular spot and began suckling, Snufkin gasped aloud and craned his neck to give his father more room to work. As Snufkin responded to the painful pleasure, his hands pulled more firmly at Joxter’s hair—which only made the Mumrik suckle harder, to the point Snufkin was crying out. When Snufkin dropped his hands from his father’s hair to his sides to fist at the grass below, Joxter released the sensitive skin, and backing up a bit, the Mumrik admired his start to painting Snufkin like his personal canvas—the hickey was already developing into a brilliant purple bruise, with a lovely red outline.

The taste of Snufkin’s blood on Joxter’s tongue was faint, but enough to leave him hungry, _starving_ to taste more of the prey that is pinned beneath him. Not saying a word, Joxter moved himself off Snufkin, who turned his head to look at the Joxter quizzically, expression worrying—but all the man did was forcefully flip his son over onto his stomach. Snufkin opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a squeak as Joxter had, again, manhandled Snufkin until he was on his knees. Blinking stupidly, thinking that everything was moving way to fast for him to keep up, he felt a clawed hand pulling at his shorts, and quickly Snufkin wanted to protest. “Papa—” Snufkin started, voice strained and stuttering on whatever he was about to say after, as he felt the hand, no longer pulling at the shorts, but sliding up the back of his thigh, up into a pant leg, and when it found the supple fat, gave a harsh squeeze to Snufkin’s ass cheek. “Papa!” Snufkin gasped, face turning hot, and like a child, kept his head resting against the flat top of his arms.

With a predatory growl, pleased with the reaction, Joxter pulled his hand down out of the boy’s pants, playfully dragging the point of his nails along the skin of his thighs, which trembled ever so lightly. “You really thought you were being _cute_ , didn’t you?” Joxter asked, voice rougher than usual, and while it sounded sincere, Snufkin could hear the cruel tease as he imagined the Joxter to be sporting a smug, mischievous grin. When Snufkin didn’t react and stayed quiet, Joxter reached up to the top of his son’s shorts, and roughly, but swiftly yanked them down to bunch up at the bend of his knees--  now that got Snufkin to make a noise, a quick intake of air, and Joxter could also hear the ripping of grass from Snufkin’s anxious fisting of it under his hands.

While Joxter did love the view of Snufkin’s perky, bare ass, he was after something else— placing his hands on Snufkin’s ass cheeks, and leaning himself forward, the Mumrik eased the two soft mounds apart, to reveal the target of his desire. Snufkin just stayed quiet, albeit breathing heavier, face down as his body felt as if it was going to overheat from both embarrassment and anticipation.

Joxter let out a sigh of hot breath onto the pink little pucker, to which caused a noticeable shiver to run throughout Snufkin’s body, and Joxter even watched as goosebumps appeared on the delicate skin. Snufkin was almost panting at this point, he hated when his father teased and played with him like this—but god did it leave him hard and desperate. Licking his lips, and with no warning, Joxter proceeded to drag his thick, rough, hot tongue across Snufkin’s entrance; the boy jolted, head rising as he let out a wanton moan, which Joxter responded in turn with a soft hum, and began licking and prodding Snufkin’s entrance ruthlessly. Snufkin was panting and whimpering with each lick and intrusion of the wet muscle, unabashedly pushing his hips back, which Joxter let out another hum of approval as he spread the boy’s ass cheeks as much as he could to gain as much access.

The filthy sounds of Joxter eating out his son, along with Snufkin whining and gasping for air, got Joxter almost smiling as he licked and pressed his tongue into the tight ring of muscle, loosening it up with the assault and constant lubrication of his spit. When Snufkin began calling for his father breathlessly, loudly, is when Joxter finally pulled back, breathing rather hard himself, dribbles of thick saliva covering his chin and around his mouth. Snufkin whined from the loss of stimulation and heat, hating how vulnerable he was to the cool, evening breeze.

“Oh, indeed you _may_ be cute,” Joxter said as he nudged Snufkin’s legs apart, and obediently Snufkin spread ‘em to allow his father to squeeze himself between the lithe legs. The sound of a zipper being pulled down and pants dropping, only reinforced what was about to happen, and with a mixture of both anxiety and excitement, Snufkin simply spread his legs til the shorts strained between them. “Papa… Papa _please_ …” Snufkin moaned out, sounding oh so needy and desperate. It made Joxter’s cock strain and a pearl of precum form at the slit of his fat head-- the man grabbed his cock, aligning it at Snufkin’s wet, puckered entrance. “ _Cute_ —trying to be a little whore, all for _me_ ,” Joxter said, voice low, biting, and the words only made Snufkin cry out louder as his father pushed himself into Snufkin, groaning once his whole cock was encased in his boy’s tight ass.

Both stayed unmoving for a couple of seconds, Snufkin trying to adjust to the intrusive penetration and his father’s size, and Joxter had to keep himself from cumming right away as the walls of Snufkin’s ass pulsed and squeezed around him, God he was so _tight_ , and so _hot_ —both were breathing hard.

Placing his paws on Snufkin’s hips, Joxter began moving, in and out, slowly at first, groaning lowly—but quickly the slow pull out was followed by a sharp, thrust of Joxter’s hips. That got Snufkin crying out, clawing at the ground as Joxter repeated the rhythm, each thrust getting harder and rougher, to the point Snufkin felt as if he was being stabbed right to the core. It wasn’t until Joxter’s cock struck something extremely sensitive, that Snufkin began to feel real pleasure—got him pleading for Joxter **_to fuck him right there_**. “Fuck me papa, p- _ah_ lease, just fuck me!”  Snufkin exclaimed, not being able to see the wild blue eyes glint and reflect something primal deep inside him, and with a roguish smile, Joxter did just that.

His grip on Snufkin’s hips became almost bruising as he held his son in place, ramming in and out, faster, harder, grunting and breathing loudly as he fucked Snufkin into nearly screaming his name out, to echo throughout the woods. The sounds of squelching and flesh slapping against flesh, along with the moans, groans, and heavy breathing of sex, was absolutely _obscene_ , and lucky for them, not many residents came wandering this far.

Snufkin was close, he knew he was close by how the heat in his abdomen was beginning to feel like fire, and this feeling of being pulled tight like a string was becoming too much— and with Joxter nearly hitting that sweet spot deep inside him perfectly, Snufkin was beginning to believe he would indeed split in half. “Pa- _aah_ …. Papa! I, I _can’t_ —” Snufkin struggled to get the words out as it was difficult to form coherent sentences as his brain had been drugged with pure bliss and ecstasy—and with every thrust, Snufkin only wanted to mewl and cry out.

But Joxter, even when fucking his son like a bitch, knew what the boy had tried saying—and so, as a favor for the boy, the Mumrik would help out, just this once.

Snufkin arched his back and gasped silently as the feeling of a hot, rough hand wrap around his dick. Now with both his ass and cock being pleasured, all it took was a couple of twists and flick of the wrist from Joxter, and Snufkin let out a sob as he finally came. It was like all the tension released instantly, and it felt so good, _too good_ , that the young man honestly believed he was going to pass out—so he rested his forehead against the cool grass, eyes closed, still moaning and gasping as Joxter continued fucking him. Even so, Joxter was very close as well, struggling to keep himself together as the walls of Snufkin’s ass began constricting almost painfully around his cock due to his son finally climaxing—and so, with one more, strong thrust of his hips, Joxter finally released.

Snufkin felt the fast spurts of warm cum coat the inside of him, groaning as he began to feel _almost too full_ of both his father’s cock and cum. Joxter continued to gently thrust his hips until his cock had pumped out the last of his seed, and then with a tired, but content groan, the Joxter pulled himself out of Snufkin. Right as Joxter pulled out, cum began to dribble and leak from Snufkin’s used hole, and while it may have felt rather gross, Snufkin also felt relieved as the pressure inside deceased.

 

* * *

 

 

It was barely nightfall when the two started back to the shack—well, Joxter had given in to his guilt of making Snufkin incredibly exhausted and almost in too much pain to walk, so the old Mumrik was carrying his son, bridal style, securely in his arms. While Joxter had put on most of his clothes back on haphazardly, Snufkin was still bare-bottomed, and simply placed his shorts on his stomach, and his hat was dangling from one of his hands. Head resting against his father’s chest, Snufkin felt absolutely at peace, safe, and, well—desired, loved? Snufkin wasn’t entirely sure what the difference between the two were, but to him, they had to be one and the same, at least, when it concerned his father. In the end, he let it go, because he was too tired and pleased to get all complicated and difficult again, he just wanted to focus on how warm his father was, and how Joxter’s heartbeat had quickly became one of Snufkin’s favorite melodies.

The light of the full moon lit the path for Joxter to follow easily, and as they arrived at the rickety shack, Snufkin had already given into the darkness of sleep.


End file.
